Innocent and Heartless
by Rainbooks
Summary: Margo's mother never tolerated silly stories about magic, but Margo's mother is dead, and all her family back in England wants to do is tell silly stories about magic and this Peter Pan. Margo doesn't believe, but James' machine has caught her attention. Meanwhile, Peter is looking for something - or someone - and when he finds it - or her - it might just mean the end of Neverland.


**I've attempted to write and publish this story several times before, but for one reason or another, I've always taken it down before I got to two chapters. I'm hoping not to do that anymore. I mean, if I'm so attached to a story that I've written it again and again over a span of two years, then I might as well just finish it, right? So here we are. I do use a few lines directly from J.M. Barrie's work, who wrote Peter Pan, but the majority of the characters I've created myself. I've calculated that this story should be about 17 chapters, but the chapters would be pretty long. This first one doesn't have much of Peter in it, but don't worry, he's definitely a main character. Thank you very much, and please let me know what you think. xo -Zoe **

* * *

Innocent and Heartless

All children, except one, grow up.

It's a common misconception that, when in Neverland, any normal child would cease to age completely, when in actuality, the child in question is the age that he or she thinks at.

As, generally, Neverland exists in the minds of children, it is almost entirely controlled by thought – by imagination. Accordingly, in Neverland, it isn't time that ages the child, rather, it is the maturity of their thoughts. It's their loss of innocence, their doubt, their worry, their mental wrinkles that bubble up and make them grow, and then – well, and then they have to go.

Neverland is for children, you see. Grownups, with their greed, and their pride, and their wrath – they only spoil it.

Expanding upon what I had been saying about Neverland existing in the minds of children, each child's mind has a different take on Neverland, and although most are something of an island, each Neverland is dictated by the hopes and the desires - the whimsy of each child.

For example, it was always midnight in Margo's Neverland.

Her dreams were eternally cloaked in darkness, and yet, she never felt wary. She felt comfortable in it.

The whole place took on a flickering, blueish hue, as if the entire forest were under the ocean, or gazing upon a lit swimming pool in the nighttime. It was never cold in her Neverland. If she could have seen past the trees above, she would have seen that there wasn't a cloud in the sky, and that the moon was hardly ever a sliver of a crescent.

In her dreams, there was a tall and beautiful elfin woman with luminous, moon-like skin, and long, silver hair. She gripped Margo's hand with her slim fingers, and smiled as they crept through the forest in silence.

Margo was happy to follow the elf wherever she led her, even with there being seemingly no destination in mind. They never spoke – and although they kept walking, they never _got _anywhere, and Margo was completely content.

There was only ever one source of anxiety in Margo's dreams. It happened more often in her youth, and as she grew older, it happened less frequently until it ceased and disappeared, along with the elf, and the dream, and her Neverland.

It was nothing more than a voice that ailed her. A young boy's voice coming from just ahead in the wood. Margo didn't recognize it, but she felt that she must reach the boy who spoke no matter what the cost. When she heard the boy, Margo felt as if, although it seemed that she and the elf were heading toward no where, they had incessantly, undoubtedly, and inevitably been heading toward the boy all along.

On the nights when she heard him, Margo's dreams took a turn for the uneasy. She led the elf, rather than the other way around, and the two of them ran through the forest, swiping away leaves and tumbling over roots. The faster they ran the closer together the boy's calls came. The louder, and the more desperate he sounded. She never reached him.

Margo tried to tell her mother about her dreams but she couldn't quite explain it. Her mother, Ms. Moira Henley, a timid and strict woman with a stiff English accent, suggested that Margo draw her dreams, but Margo found that she plainly couldn't. For one, Ms. Henley insisted that forests weren't blue, but Margo's _was, _and she couldn't find quite the right color to draw her elf. And when it came to the boy, she drew a blank. She couldn't even imagine a face to put to the voice, nor the name that he called – the only thing that he ever said.

She hated, even, the thought of repeating it aloud.

Margo frustrated her mother with her inability to express herself on the subject, and her determination to do so, still. It took years until she was able to convey what she dreamed in the slightest.

Drawing the boy felt like drawing air, or laughter, but the closest she got was when she was seven, and in crayon, wrote across a page:

WENDY?

She gave the paper to her mother, and the recognition in Ms. Henley's face when she looked at it was more than Margo could have ever hoped for, or even expected. What she really didn't expect, however, was the fear in her eyes, and how she pressed her lips tightly together like when she was very upset. Least of all, Margo didn't expect her mother to tear the paper in half and toss it, with a brisk, "No more of that silly talk, now."

After that, Ms. Henley took on a very odd way, and she never seemed to go back to normal. She forbid Margo from any sort of "silliness" as she called it, and where another mother might have humored her daughter and told her tall tales that she didn't necessarily believe, Ms. Henley was blunt, and realistic, refusing her daughter even the slightest hope in magic.

"There is no Santa Claus."

"Margaret, children can't fly, you're being silly."

"There is no tooth fairy."

"Margaret, do not tell such silly lies."

"There is no type of fairy at all."

"Margaret, you _must _close your window, stop being silly!"

"There are no such things as fairies."

"Margaret, there are no such things."

This is around the time where Ms. Henley and Mr. Henley split. Amongst other things, Mr. Henley hated that Moira had turned his only daughter into a child who rolled her eyes and told him that Santa didn't exist when he asked her if she'd been good for Christmas.

For a long time, it was just Margo and her mother, living in a small apartment in New York City.

But then, oh, but then -

Let it be known that Margo loved her mother. Despite the fact that Moira threw away the VCR tapes she'd deemed "silly" when Margo was eight, and that in Margo's early teenage years, they fought constantly over her freedom levels, she loved her. She simply didn't say it enough.

Margo was only sixteen years old when she had to learn the lesson that you should always say that you love someone as often as you can, because when things go wrong, they go wrong fast.

Within the first week of May, Moira had been killed, Margo had been moved out of their New York City apartment, and her father cleared a spot on his couch in Manhattan for her to sleep until "he could figure things out."

And that was it. No more fighting with her mother. No more "silly" things or prim English accents. Margo would never see her mother again.

When things go wrong, they go wrong fast.

–

Entering the restaurant where her father had asked to meet, Margo felt extremely out of place and under dressed. In fact, the man at the front desk eyed her in such a manner that said that he felt she did not belong there.

"Um," she said to him, wiggling her toes in her Chinese Mary Janes. "I'm looking for my dad. He should be here already."

"Name?" murmured the host.

"Uh-"

"Margo! Over here!" Margo looked over to where a beautiful blonde woman clicked over with her arms wide to embrace her. The host became noticeably more inviting and smiled at both of them.

"Oh," said Margo, tentatively hugging the woman. She smelled wonderful. "Jen. You're here."

Jen pulled back to smile at Margo, scrunching her nose in an adorable way. "Well, of course I am!" She hooked her arm in Margo's and steered her away, throwing a smile toward the fawning host. "Your father and I have wonderful news to tell you! He's in the restroom right now, I just came to the front to see if you had made it here yet."

Jen sat down at a round table and motioned for Margo to take an empty seat. "Right," Margo said, sitting down. She slid her backpack off of her shoulder and slung it under the table. "Sorry, I'm late. I had – uh – my appointment after school, and I took the subway here so..." She patted around the table unconsciously looking for a menu. Jen slid over an untouched glass of coke, and Margo took it with a weak smile.

"You'll have to forgive us," said Jen "Richard ordered already. You know how impatient he is." Chuckling, she took a sip of her red wine, not even leaving a smudge of her rosy lipstick on the glass. "But he ordered you pasta. He said it's your favorite, and that's what you would have ordered anyway."

For the first time, Margo's smile was genuine. She was surprised that her father had known that.

"So, how was counseling? Your appointment?"

The smile fell off her face. "Good," Margo deadpanned, taking a swig of her coke. "Really great."

Yeah, Jen, she thought. I love talking about my dead mom.

Jen felt the ice in Margo's voice and seemed vaguely hurt, trying to smile, but giving up and looking down, twisting round her diamond wedding ring. Margo felt immediately guilty, and had opened her mouth to apologize, when her father returned from the restroom and kissed the both of them on the cheek.

"Well, if it isn't my daughter, arrived at last," he said, sitting down. He smiled widely at her, and Jen smiled widely at him. Margo smiled too, but she also thought that the way her father and Jen smiled all the time made her sick. Or sad. Or angry. Or all three. She took a swig of her coke.

"You have something to tell me?" She said.

Her father straightened up his tie. "Well, yes, but you just got here! How was your day? How was school?"

Margo shrugged. "Good."

Jen was back to her bubbly self now that Richard had come. "I told your dad that we should do this tomorrow – it's Friday night! You probably have a party to go to or a _boy _to see." She giggled mischievously, placing her hand on Richard's, resting on the table.

Richard lifted Jen's dainty hand to his mouth and kissed it. Margo gagged inwardly.

"No!" Richard said from behind Jen's hand. "No boys!"

Jen rolled her eyes. "Oh, please, Richard. You sound like my father."

He's old enough to _be _your father, Margo thought bitterly. "No, he's right," she murmured, instead. "_No boys_." She changed the subject abruptly. "Did you guys get the apartment? Is that the surprise?" Margo knew that her father had been looking for a new apartment that had two bedrooms instead of one. She was hoping they'd find one sooner than later. She was tired of sleeping on the pull-out couch.

"No..." laughed her father.

"We did get one, though!" added Jen, squeezing his hand tight. "I can't take it anymore – tell her, Richard!"

"Oh, alright!" said Richard.

"We're pregnant!" Jen squealed.

"Oh," said Margo. "Oh, wow." This _was _a surprise. She smiled, truly happy for them. Looking at her father and her – as much as she hated to think of Jen this way – _step-mother_, and how happy they were together, Margo could only be happy with them. A happy, happy family with a new happy, happy baby. Even if Jen was only six years older than her. "That's great," she added.

"I'm so happy that you're happy, Margo!" said Jen, reaching over to touch her hand. "I really want your last year in high school to be as great as possible. I want you to be happy with us."

Margo smiled, but as soon as she could, she slipped her hand away. She took a swig of her coke. "This summer will be fun," she said. She hoped silently that they had picked a three bedroom apartment so she didn't have to share a room with the baby. "We'll read baby books, and decorate their room. When can we know if it's a boy or girl? When are you due?"

Margo noticed Jen glance at Richard with a quick frown. "Well," said Richard. "Well, actually, this summer, you'll be spending some time with your Aunt Nicole. In England."

Margo took a moment to process. "What? Wait – who?"

"Your Aunt Nicole. From your mother's side. Where _is_ our food? You'd think in a place as nice as this, we'd have faster service. Waiter!"

"Richard..." scolded Jen.

Margo pressed her lips tightly together, furrowing her eyebrows as she struggled. "But - I thought – mom doesn't – didn't – mom doesn't have a sister or..." She felt she might cry.

Richard frowned. "She doesn't. Didn't. Have a sister. I mean, she did, but – well, Nicole is your mother's cousin. Her husband has a house on the country side, and the whole family is going out for the summer. She wants you to come out, and we thought – I thought you should go. Nicole said there would be plenty of children there." He took a swig of his wine.

"Mom doesn't have any cousins," Margo said desperately.

"She does," he said, sighing. "A _lot _of them. You know how Moira was, Margo. They didn't get along, and your mother stopped talking to them. And about them."

"Dad, I don't want to go - I don't want to _leave_, I just-"

"Listen to me, Margaret." Hearing her father use her full name, so serious all of a sudden, Margo choked back a sob, shutting her eyes tight. "All you do is mope around. You never have any friends over, you never go out or have any sort of fun. But I guess you get that from Moira. Just – you used to _dance, _Margo, and _laugh_, but – I thought that counseling would help but you're still so..."

"Well, sorry I'm not laughing enough for you, _dad_, but I'm in _mourning. _My mother was just stabbed to death!"

"_Margaret_," he hissed, seeming to reprimand her both for being morbid and for making a scene. "It's been two weeks-"

"Two weeks!" she shouted, tears falling fast, now. She saw Jen cry, too, in silence. Margo's first reaction was to feel guilty for upsetting such a gentle woman, but at that moment, she couldn't have cared less. She hated the lady who took her father when she needed him the most. Her mascara didn't even run. "My mother died _two weeks _ago, and now my dad is sending me off to some stranger!"

"Margaret, I'm sorry if you see it that way," Richard said, becoming stern in his discomfort. "I think this summer will be good for you. And it will give Jennifer and I a chance to – to-"

"Be a family," Margaret provided, finally allowing herself to sob. She pulled the sleeves of her cardigan up over her hands and wrapped her arms around her stomach and cried. She tried not to cry much, but had always felt like she would. Every day since her mother didn't come home two weeks before, she had felt unstable, as if any one thing might set her off into a blubbering mess.

"Margaret, you're acting like a child."

She felt like a child. She felt frightened. Alone.

A waiter came at last with their food. No one thanked them, and Richard drank all of the wine left in his glass.

"Pasta Alfredo," the waiter murmured, placing a bowl on the table before Margo.

"See?" said Richard, exasperated. "Your favorite."

Pausing to take several quick, deep breaths that made her dizzy, Margo cried harder than ever.

Her favorite food was pasta with _red_ sauce.

–

A week later, two days after school had been let out for the summer, Margo was put on an eight hour flight headed for London. She didn't even have to pack – she'd recently been living out of a suitcase in her father's living room.

When things go bad, they go bad fast.

Richard had worriedly asked her not to talk to strangers during her trip, and out of spite, Margo had decided to do so. In her darkest place, she had wished to be kidnapped, and even planned briefly to run away, slipping off when she landed in London, unbeknownst to whomever had come to pick her up from the airport. She thought that perhaps, losing her could be the worst punishment to her father.

Though, if it wasn't – if he didn't care – all that torment she'd put herself through would be for nothing, wouldn't it?

Yet, not one for confrontation, Margo had spent the past week punishing herself in order to relay her unhappiness to her father. She made it a point to look even more sullen than before. If he said something that she thought was funny, she wouldn't even allow herself – or him – a smile. She wouldn't eat. Of course, at school, she ate twice as much lunch to make up for her missed breakfast, and in the middle of the night, she snuck into the kitchen to eat unnoticeable amounts of the leftovers from dinner.

She thought that perhaps Jen figured her out, because around Wednesday, she started leaving out separate plates of dinner on small saucers that Richard wouldn't notice. Then, Margo began buying hot fries on the way home from school and hid them in her backpack until Jen and her father went to bed. She ate them alone, lit by her computer screen in the dark, crunching slowly both so she would not be caught, and so she could hear Gossip Girl playing through her headphones.

When Jen and her father left her at the airport, she'd wanted to hug them back, but she couldn't convince herself to. She'd never been so angry.

However, she let them hug her. She so desperately needed a hug.

They waved as she passed the point through which they could not pass, but she did not turn back until she was about to turn a corner, which would leave her unable to see them anymore. When she did, they had already turned, sadly, to leave.

Once she reached her terminal, much too early, Margo sat alone, in the back, having long ago abandoned her decision to talk to strangers. She cried silently, mopping at her face with her sleeves.

She checked her phone one last time, thanking the few friends who had bade her a good trip. Her friends had little idea on how to handle Margo's fragile state that past month, and only a couple hadn't simply begun to avoid her.

She turned her phone off, and moved to a seat closer to the window. Dabbing at her tears, watching the planes load and unload, she tried not to hear the excited voices around her. People going home for the summer. People visiting friends. People going on adventures, English accents and otherwise. She felt terribly sorry for herself.

Margo gazed up toward the cloudless blue sky, and wondered idly if it would look different from the UK. She thought about how beautiful and vast the sky was.

Oddly, her eyes were just the color of blue as the sky in Neverland, though she didn't know that yet.

–

WENDY?

–

Dragging her suitcase behind her, Margo made her way through the London airport. She was vaguely concerned on how she would be found – she had never before seen this allusive Aunt Nicole or any of the apparently several cousins, and she wasn't sure that they knew her. She thought that, perhaps, taking into account that they owned a summer home, her mother's family was extremely wealthy, and would send a driver, who would be holding a sign with her name on it.

Her problem was solved almost immediately when she came out to a crowd of people where she was embraced – or, rather, attacked.

Surprised, and a little frightened, Margo put her arm around a tiny woman who, in four inch high heels, just barely matched Margo's above average height of 5'6''. The woman squeezed Margo's shoulders tight, twisting her back and forth as much as she could with Margo still gripping her luggage handle with one hand. "Oh, Margaret, I would know you anywhere," she crooned in her English accent.

"Uh," Margo could only say. "Margo. Call me – um..."

The woman pulled back and smiled. Oh, wonderful, another smiler, Margo thought unpleasantly.

"Right, of course," said the woman. "Margo." Her smile grew wider, and she stroked Margo's cheek with the back of her hand. "Oh, you look just like your mother at this age! Except, of course, her eyes were green, and she didn't have this fashionable fringe – how posh!" A hundred thoughts seemed to pass through her head – her smile dimmed and looked sad. "You're so beautiful," she murmured.

Margo cocked an eyebrow. "Oh. Thanks..."

The woman yanked the suitcase from Margo's hand and clicked away, dark curls fallen loose from her up-do flying round when she whipped her head back to smile and beckon for Margo to follow her. "So, sorry!" She said "You must be completely lost! I'm Nicole. But everyone calls me Nico. Stupid, boyish name, but, I've had it since I was a child, and nearly everyone I know has known me since I was a child, it feels like."

Coming out of the airport, they stopped. Margo was studying the sky above, unable to tell if the color was different from the one she'd seen nine hours before. The weather was nice – a bit cooler than it had been in New York, but perhaps it was later in the afternoon than it when she'd left home. Margo felt extremely disoriented.

Feeling Nico watching her, she looked over. "You know, your mother called me Nico," she said, smiling. "Cross here!" Margo ran, shocked, after her as Nico briskly crossed the street.

"We were children together," she said. The wheels of the suitcase made a different sound as it rolled, now that they were in the parking lot. "There was a whole lot of us, but your mother and-" Nico laughed humorlessly "-your mother and her sister and I – this is us – we were the closest. Oh, the adventures we'd have! We had the best imaginations."

Margo helped Nico load her suitcase into the trunk of a little gray car. She went to the passenger seat, and found that it was on the other side than what she was used to. Sighing, she walked around the front of the car and got in, too tired to be polite and wait.

Once Nico got settled in her seat, Margo waited a silent beat then mumbled solemnly, "I didn't even know mom _had _a sister."

Smiling sadly, Nico said, "No, I don't suppose you did." She backed out of her spot and began to drive. Margo felt odd at driving on the left side of the road. "Your father told me, on the phone, that Moira didn't talk about us much." She smoothed the material of her red pencil skirt over her thighs. "And, well, her sister – Angela – when we were children she went missing – she was kidnapped, we believe, and they never even found a body. And I don't suppose your mother would like to talk about that."

Nico sighed. "Well that's a unpleasant topic!" She paused. "Oh! I cannot believe how rude I am! How was your trip? Are you tired? Hungry? We'll reach my flat in just ten minutes or so. Everyone is up at the manor already, but I thought we'd make the drive tomorrow to give you a chance to rest."

Margo cleared her throat. "Yeah," she said. "Yeah, um, it was good. I'm a little tired. I didn't sleep very well on the plane."

–

WENDY?

–

"Oh, well, you can get to bed as soon as you like – we'll leave early in the morning," Nico said. "We don't have a guest room, but you can sleep in my sons' nursery."

"You have a son?"

Nico grinned. "Two," she said. "Twins – just five years old. Don't worry though, their beds are regular sized, so you wont have to lay doubled – yeah, well fuck you too, buddy! Oh, sorry." She threw an apologetic smile toward Margo. "Sorry, I've got a bit of a temper when it comes to asshats. Oh, but yeah. You won't have to lay doubled up."

"Great," Margo said.

–

Currently, in Neverland, Peter had a crew of six lost boys. The number fluctuated, but he rarely had over ten boys around. He preferred it as such. Too many boys became hard to keep silent in times of sneaking.

One of youngest in his crew was Pin, who had quite the temper on him, and it got him into trouble with the other boys and the Natives, who were generally only pretending when they fought with him.

Then there was Great who wasn't so great - you see, he almost always would rather keep watch or miss out on an adventure all together. He wasn't so much cowardly as he was lazy, which, to Peter, was almost just as bad. However, since he always wanted to stay back at the hide-out, Peter made him in charge of the younger lost boys who were so new to walking that they only ever got in the way.

Dez and Bitts, who were best friends, were the most interested in adventure, and so – although all of the boys were extremely loyal to him - these two were always the first to follow Peter into whatever mess he'd planned to get into. Bitts, especially loved to find and steal all sorts of sparkling treasures. In fact, he had a secret hiding place where he hid all of the treasures that he's found, and know one had the slightest clue.

Fork was very tenderhearted, and often became the butt of the boys' adventures. When they played Kidnap with the Natives, he was almost always the one who they took – when the boys were running from a beast, he was usually the one that it caught up to, ramming into his rear-end with its head. However, his sweetness and goodhearted nature was never tainted by bitterness. In fact, he almost enjoyed the attention from Peter and the boys he when misfortune fell upon him.

The eldest lost boy was called Roller, and, being around the longest, was Peter's right hand man, so to speak. He rarely spoke with the other boys, or really had anything to do with them except for to order them around when Peter was away. He didn't act distant from the other boys out of a sense of superiority, rather, he had a stronger sense of the danger in Neverland, and took things very seriously. More than anything, he felt protective of the boys, who could tend to be silly, and was eternally loyal to Peter.

Finally, being perhaps one of the oddest of the lost boys, was little Matty, who was the youngest and the smallest of all. Because of his size, Peter often made him stay back at the hideout with Great, but sometimes, he forgot and let him come. Matty was odd because he oftentimes disappeared and didn't come back for long periods of time. The other boys thought about questioning him when they noticed, but they nearly always forgot to when he returned. They might have just come to the conclusion that he went off to his own adventures, like Peter did, to make up for the ones that he was too small for.

Oh, but also, he sometimes had these odd feelings. These odd, odd feelings, that were strong, and distinct, yet vague, like-

"Something big is going to happen."

Bitts had Dez twisted tightly up in a hammock so that Matty could only see his head. "Like what?" Dez asked, before Bitts let him go. At first he stayed bunched up in the sling, but then he unraveled all at once in a quick blur, and was dumped onto the wooden floor of the treehouse, feeling queasy.

"My turn!" Bitts called.

"Like..." he said. He was laying on the back of a bearskin that the Picaninny tribe had given them. He pet the matting fur that was only a little bit soft anymore. "Like, I don't know."

"Well, let us know when you do," said Pin, jumping on the bed, making feathers fly. "It has been so boring lately!"

It had, in fact been rather boring, because Peter had killed the last pirate captain, and the beasts and the natives weren't any real danger like the pirates were.

Looking between the twisting branches that made the treehouse walls, Fork sighed. "I wonder where Peter is. I'm sure he's found something fun to do."

"He's probably in the mainland," said Bitts.

"No way," said Dez, "He's still in Neverland."

"He's in the Dream Forest."

All of the boys looked at Roller, sitting on a swing, whittling a piece of wood. "Why?" They asked.

The Dream Forest was a congested and confusing place on the island made up of each and every child's Neverland. Roller told them that it used to be fun to go there, but hardly any child has come up with anything exciting and new for them to explore. The boys thought that they'd fought at least a bajillion giant transforming robot aliens.

Roller shrugged. "He's looking for something."

–

Nico came into the room with a mug of tea, having traded her fashionable businessware for sweats, and looking shorter now that she was barefoot. "Two sugars, right?" She asked, sitting on the edge of the bed. Her sons' twin beds lay parallel to each other, pushed against two walls in the room. All of the toys were packed away for the summer. The duvets were decorated with dinosaurs.

"Yes, that's perfect." Margo took the mug, careful not to spill. "Thanks."

"And you're sure you don't want to watch X-Factor with me?"

"No, I'm fine."

Silent for a moment, Nico picked at the pins in her hair, slowly letting more curls drop from the updo. "Did you talk to your father?"

"Yeah, I did."

Nico shook out her hair and smiled. "Good." Taking the mug from Margo and putting it on an end table, she scooted forward and stroked Margo's hair, damp after a quick shower. "I wonder - can I brush your hair?"

Margo pressed her lips tightly together, then said, "Sure."

Nico left and quickly padded back in with a hairbrush. She picked at the strands of her dark hair stuck in the bristles, hopping back onto the bed. She began to brush Margo's hair, darker wet, water dripping onto the back of her shirt. "God, it is so nice to have another girl around. You know, I live a boy's house – you do _not _want to know how many times I've fell into the loo." She chuckled. Margo allowed herself a smile.

"I love my boys, but I've always wanted a daughter," she continued. "Of course, there's Jackie. You'll meet her. Thirteen years old. We used to be close...She's at a confusing age. Don't tell her I said it, but she's been acting like a right brat." Nico paused, then sighed. _"Your mother_ was my best friend."

Margo began to feel a mixture of sadness and discomfort. The woman that Margo knew to be her mother did not mix with the likes of Nico, and Nico certainly didn't seem like the type to want to be around her mother. She thought that perhaps she didn't know her mother as well as she thought she did.

Nico was talkative and cheerful. She was fun and whimsical, even being an adult. Nico being around the same age as her mother was, Margo could hardly imagine what she was like when she was younger.

Perhaps Moira was like that too, but changed when she had a child. Perhaps Margo was the reason Moira never smile liked Nico did.

Margo's worries seemed to be confirmed when she asked, "When did you guys stop talking?" and Nico frowned and said, "Well, I suppose, when she had you."

Though, she corrected herself immediately. "Not that _you _did anything wrong, dear, but, ever since Angela went missing...the thought of having a child under her supervision scared her. Scared me too! Imagine me, thirty-seven years old, deciding to have children." She laughed. "Well, as soon as she found out – I remember - _two_ days after we found out you were a girl, she told me she was marrying the bloody American – your father – and moving to New York. We fought about it, naturally, and we didn't really talk after that."

Nico stopped and put aside the hairbrush. "I'm sorry we didn't come to the funeral," she said quietly. "I'm sorry, I – we didn't even know. We didn't even know until your father contacted me about you – I-"

Margo didn't look at her, but she suddenly got the feeling that Nico would cry. Panicking, convinced she would not be able to handle a heart to heart with this woman she had just met, Margo looked around the room, impeccably clean considering that it belonged to five-year-olds. "Is Peter one of your sons?" she asked.

"Hm?" Nico looked up to where Margo saw a crude drawing of what looked to be a flying boy taped to the wall. It was captioned in blue crayon "PETER." Nico smiled slyly, laughing under her breath. "No, my boys are called Mathew and James – Jimmy we call him, because he's named after my husband. _That _is Peter Pan. The boy who never grew up."

"Oh," said Margo. She'd never heard of him.

Nico sniffed. Margo didn't turn to look at her. "I am so sorry," she said, getting up. "It's still a bit early out, but you can go to bed now, if you'd like. I'll wake you in the morning, and we'll leave for the manor. It's about a three hour drive, so you can sleep more in the car, I-"

Nico went to the window and opened it wide. "The boys insist that they sleep with the window open, you see-" she gestured to the picture on the wall. "Peter can't get in if the window's closed. Then he can't take them Neverland." She grinned at Margo, sitting primly on the bed. Margo saw that her eyes were, indeed, rimmed red and puffy. "We used to tell those stories all the time. I'm surprised your mother didn't – well, I suppose I'm not surprised. Goodnight." She left, and closed the door.

After a moment, Margo stood up and went to the window. Looking out toward toward the darkening sky falling upon the foreign landscape, she felt vaguely guilty for not having comforted Nico. It was, after all, her loss too.

But then again, Margo thought, feeling tears falling down her own cheeks, it wasn't. Nico's Moira had apparently died sixteen years ago. The Moira Henley that Margo knew would never have watched the X-Factor, or spouted stories about some Peter Pan. Nico's Moira was gone, and though she could see that Nico hoped Margo was like the Moira she'd known, she wasn't.

In fact, Margo was just like the Moira who'd run away to New York, and threw away her daughter's VCR's. And talk of Peter Pan? A flying boy who takes children to magical lands?

"Don't be silly." Margo slid the window shut.

–

Margo woke up earlier than Nico. The sun hadn't even risen yet.

When Nico came into the room, she found Margo standing silently by the window, gazing out at the city coming to life. The bed was perfectly made. She was already dressed.

"Oh, you're up!" Nico said. She, on the other hand, was still in her sweats, her hair piled up messily on her head. "I've just got to get dressed. We don't have much here because James took all the food to the manor, but, you can make some toast, I guess, and we can stop on the way." She padded away.

Margo made her toast and sat at the table, tearing apart the bread before she ate it. When they left, later than planned, Nico held a piece of toast in her mouth, the clicking of her heels and the rolling of her suitcase sounding against the stone floor of the entryway.

Coming outside, Margo squinted at the intensity of the morning sun, wishing she had a pair of shades. The brightness made her light hair look blonde.

Margo helped load Nico's luggage into the back seat, and they were off. Not wanting to waste the experience of being in a new city, Margo watched as London sped by. The tall buildings reminded her of home. Nico played the radio, but Margo didn't recognize any of the songs. But then again, she hadn't really been listening to music as of late.

Soon, tiredness hit her once again, and she fell asleep.

The pain from sleeping of her arm woke her, later, and as she stretched, she saw that all signs of the buildings and the city had gone. They were replaced by low hills and flat grounds covered with long grass of various color, and vast expanses of heather as far out as she could see. There was hardly a cloud in the sky.

A soft hissing sound made Margo think that Nico had been listening to static on the radio, but she looked and saw that it was turned off.

"It's the wind," Nico explained.

"Where are we?" Margo murmured, stretching in her seat.

Nico turned off the airconditioner. "Almost there. I'm glad you woke before we got there so you could see the moor. Beautiful isn't it?"

Margo unbuckled her seat belt and curled onto her side, looking out the window. She felt that the car was driving on gravel, now. She saw the purple heather blowing in the wind. The mountains, far, far away, were a vaguely darker blue against the sky. "Yeah," she yawned.

"You're going to love it at the manor," said Nico. "We've known James' family for ages and we used to come stay out here when we were children."

Margo sighed and rolled back around. "Who's we? Wait, I know I've been poorly informed about my family, but – uh – who's going to be at this manor, and what exactly is going to happen when we get there? I mean, I just have a really vague idea about what's going on. Wait – how are we related, even? Do I have grandparents?"

Nico laughed. "No grandparents. But we do have a Great Uncle Daniel, who will be at the manor, and who is very, very old. Actually, we're only hardly cousins if you want to be technical about it. Daniel is actually the one who – well, he had no children of his own but he had loads of cousins and nieces and nephews and he tried really hard to keep us all together. He says that family is the most important thing.

"So, yeah. We're distant cousins, but we're still family," she continued. "There are a lot of us. I think that there will be seven separate last names there this year. Eight, including Henley." She threw her a smile. Margo saw her hair sticking up in the reflection of Nico's shades and patted at her head.

"Eight families," Margo said in awe.

"One family," Nico corrected. "Eight surnames. There's plenty of space, but kids alone, there will be..." she took a moment to count, "eight children. Nine, if I include you. Which, I suppose I don't, sixteen years old. You can drink here, you know! Hey - do you want a beer? I can get you a beer as soon as we get to the manor."

Margo suppressed a smile. "No, I'm fine."

"Right, I suppose that would be for the best. I give you a beer and suddenly, cheeky Scotty wants a sip, then each and every one of them wants one too. Can you believe? Eight children! But I suppose that that's how our parents felt when it was us getting together, only there were nine of us. Though most of us were girls. That's right! I forgot, that's the worst – each and every one of them, except Jackie, is a bloody little boy!" Nico was complaining, but she was smiling. It was goodhearted.

"They can be so naughty, Margo, you hardly have a clue! But we were bad too, especially your mother and me," she waggled her eyebrows at her. "Myself, Moira, Angela, Napoleon – Leo, he's Jackie's father – and James, who I ran off and married like some romantic novel fool, we were thick as thieves." Nico sighed. "I'm sorry – what were the other questions? I'm actually not sure if I actually answered any of them, I've just been blabbering on, like I do."

Margo chuckled. "No, that's fine, I think I've got it."

At last, they pulled up to the Mary Ansell Manor, large and looming, pale dark shades of blue and gray matching it to the heather. Parking in the row of several automobiles wrapped around the circular driveway, Nico pointed to the well manicured hedge that she said outlined the vast and beautiful gardens behind the place.

"Oh, my God," Margo said, stepping out onto the gravel. "You own this?"

"James does," said Nico, shutting her door. "Leave the luggage. Someone will come get it. He's the only Davies left, except for my boys, now, and so the house – and the Davies' fortune – has been left to him." She led Margo up the stone steps, and opened the door. It was unlocked. "Not that we need it. James is a very respected doctor. Hello!"

"Hark!" Margo took in the ginormous room with its intricate chandelier and the grand carpeted staircase and beautiful couches and expensive rugs and the huge, working fire place, _then _she looked at the small boy who had slid in his socks on the stone, coming to a stop before them. He pointed a classic wooden sword in Nico's chest, and said, "If it isn't the likes Peg Legs Nico, clickity clacking around me treasure."

Nico held her hands up in mock surrender, then said, "Poor, poor Joshua-"

"It's Captain Josh, Nico!"

"Poor, poor, Captain Josh. Me and my matey here have found the _map _to your treasure, and we wont stop until we've nicked it!" Nico took off running, surprisingly fast in heels and a pencil skirt. Captain Josh slipped after her, shouting, "Peg Legs is after the treasure!"

Standing in the doorway, Margo watched, shocked, when three other boys came charging after them, yelling.

Confused about what she should do, Margo turned around to shut the tall, heavy door, and when she looked back, she jumped, finding a wooden sword being pointed at _her _chest.

"Who are you?" asked the boy. He was older that the first one, but not yet quite as tall as Margo. His hair was red and his face was pale and plastered with freckles.

"I'm Margo," she said, feeling uncomfortable. "Who are you?"

The boy smirked. "Why, I'm Peter Pan."

"What!" cried a smaller voice behind him. "You said that _I _could be Peter this time, Scott, you _said_!"

"Shut up, Chris," said Scott, not looking away from Margo. "Do you want to play? You can be Wendy."

Margo's stomach plummeted. She thought it was at the idea of playing a game. "Oh, no, I'm not really big on-"

Scott grabbed Margo's hand and pulled her away, leaving Chris whining behind them. He brisked her through the dining room, and the kitchen, earning a few shoos from a woman in an apron in there. They passed through a hallway with a door on every wall, and came into what looked to be a sitting room, when a voice stopped them.

"Stop!" it said, "Let go of my baby cousin so I can get a look at her."

Scott slid to a halt in his tracks, took a look at the several adults in the room, let go of Margo's hand and ran out the door.

One of the adults sighed. "Boy, did he look guilty of something or what." She got up and followed him through the door. "Scotty!" she yelled.

The man who'd stopped her was large and tall, but he slouched. He had black hair and a big nose. Green eyes and thick square glasses. He wore a skinny scarf wound round his neck. He shook Margo's hand. "Napoleon Llewelyn," he said, "but you'll call me Leo. I was good friends with your mother, you know. And of course you look just like her."

Margo smiled briefly. All of the adults in the room stood up to meet her, some shaking her hand, some hugging her, and a couple of kissed her on the cheek. She wanted desperately to go lie down somewhere alone.

"Now, now," someone said "don't scare the girl. She's fragile – and Nico said she hasn't eaten all day."

Margo thought she heard the sound of clicking coming closer, and she sighed in relief, hoping to be saved.

"Don't worry, doll, lunch is in just a bit," said someone, patting her cheek.

"Oh, back off, you lot," Nico said in the hall from which Margo came. "Oh – damn, the wheel is stuck. Margo, come in here and meet my boys, will you?"

The adults in the room looked at her expectantly. Sadly. Suspicious, Margo walked into the next room.

"Oh," she began to say, but she clamped her mouth shut, pressing her lips tightly together.

Nico didn't seem to notice. "Boys, this is Margo. I was telling you, her mum and I were great friends. Margo, this is Jimmy and Mathew."

"Nice to meet you," Margo squeaked.

There was a pause. The adults in the next room stood frozen, holding their breath.

"He has leukemia," Jimmy said bluntly. He looked a lot like his mother. Same little pursed mouth, same dark eyes and hair, though it was straighter. Mathew looked like his mother too. Identical to his twin, in fact, except that he was thinner and paler and bald and in a wheelchair.

"Oh," Margo said, while Nico scolded, "James..."

"What, mum? She's obviously shocked. I can't believe you didn't tell her." Jimmy turned on his heels and walked out the next door.

Margo glanced up at Nico, looking away with her face scrunched up. For the first time, Margo saw age in her, gripping tightly on the handles of the wheelchair."Well, that was unpleasant!" said Mathew, and all the adults in the next room let out a heavy sigh.

"It was nice to meet you," Margo said again, leaving out the way Scott had dragged her in.

Margo heard Nico call after her, but she pressed forward, not running, but walking very briskly, ignoring the woman in the apron's call to "Go around, for Christ's sake!" and a few boy's call to battle. She came to the entryway and went up the carpeted stairs, choosing, at random, which hallway to take.

She just needed a break for a while – this was too much, too fast. If only she could find her room, _any _empty bedroom would have done well, but the hallway looked like a hotel hallway often does, she found that each door that she tried revealed a bathroom, a closet, a library, a sitting room, or was simply locked.

She began to think she had chosen the wrong hallway.

Finally, slowing down and losing the frantic feeling she had when she'd first started her search, Margo found a room with a large bed filling most of the space. Although she was desperate, she was polite enough to note that the opened suitcases on the beds claimed this room for another.

She searched further, becoming more and more frustrated until she threw open a door behind which there was a twin bed pressed against the wall and several hospital-like contraptions spread neatly and compactly around the empty space. She'd found Mathew's room.

Margo gasped and stepped backward, feeling her eyes sting, but blinking back any tears.

Someone cleared their throat from behind her, making her jump.

"Oh, sorry," she murmured, looking at the carpet rather than the man before her. "I was looking for my room, and..."

She noticed that the man was staring at her. "Um," she said.

Lurching forward in a sudden movement that made Margo start, the man grabbed Margo's hand. "James Davies," he said, shaking it.

"Nico's husband," Margo murmured.

James was just an inch or so taller than Margo. He wore a fitted gray suit and a dark tie. He was clean shaven and smelled like soap. His hair and eyes were dark like Nico's, though the forming lines on his face made him look extremely serious.

"May I say," James said, pulling back, "that you look-"

"Just like my mother," Margo finished with a rueful smile. "Yeah, so I've heard."

James stared at her for another moment, making Margo feel uncomfortable. She looked up toward the ceiling and pulled the sleeves of her cardigan over her hands, pressing her lips tightly together.

"Let me take you to your room." James said suddenly, setting off in the direction in which Margo had been headed. Margo followed, walking quickly to keep up with him.

While Nico could be construed as talkative, James was the complete opposite, and his silence made him awkward. Especially with Margo's recent unwillingness to speak when she didn't find it necessary, the short walk to Margo's room felt much longer.

Finally, they stopped in front of a door that James said led to Margo's room. "Angela has arranged for you to share with Leo's daughter. She said that it would be good for you both."

Margo nodded. She opened the door and peered inside. The room was obviously made for a pair of young girls, and in a theme of pink and white, there were matching twin beds running parallel with the north and south walls, lace curtains over the open windows, a small rug, and girlish toys like a large doll house, and a short table with a complete china tea set displayed on it.

"This was your mother and Angela's room, when they'd stay here," James said. Margo groaned inwardly. Of course it was.

She went tentatively inside. Her luggage was on top the bed by the window. She came and sat by it, looking around the room.

After a moment, James told her where the nearest bathroom was. "Aren't you hungry?" he asked.

She was, but she didn't want to go back downstairs. "No," she lied.

James nodded once, and was about to close the door when he asked, "Has Mathew upset you?"

"No, not at all," she lied immediately "No, I just..." She pressed her lips tightly together, thinking. "There's so many of you all, and...I'm very grateful to be here, but..." On a completely different thought she said, "I thought I came here to escape death." She felt immediately guilty, knowing she shouldn't have said such a thing, especially to Mathew's father, but he nodded.

"There's no escaping death, Margaret," he said, and he shut the door.

In the room, alone, Margo got up and looked outside the window. Her room faced the gardens Nico told her about. She thought that she would go outside later, then pushed the window closed.

She changed out of her traveling jeans and t-shirt. She often found that wearing something nice made her feel nice. She was partial to long dresses and light sweaters. She wiped her black Chinese Mary Janes with a tissue because they were dusty from the gravel outside. She brushed her soft, light hair so that the ends by her shoulders curled up. She made sure her bangs hung evenly across her forehead. She went to the bathroom and washed her face and brushed her teeth.

She didn't feel any better.

She pulled out her laptop and looked for a wifi connection. There were none.

She lied on the floor by her bed. She ran her fingers along the underside of the white, wooden frame and felt something carved there. Sitting up slightly, Margo stuck her head underneath the bed and looked. Crudely carved there was "M & A '80"

Margo huffed incredulously. Of course.

Someone knocked at the door. "Margo, it's me," It was Nico.

Margo stood up and dusted herself off. "Come in," she said.

"You missed lunch," Nico said. Coming off the carpet and into the white wood inside the room, she clicked over and sat on Jackie's bed. Margo sat across from her on her own bed.

"I'm fine," Margo said, but Nico handed her an apple, and she woofed it down.

Nico smiled. "Come downstairs," she said. "Great Uncle Daniel is telling a story." She winked. "There will be snacks, of course."

Margo figured it was worth it.

"What time is it?" Margo asked while they walked down the hall. She was nearly finished with her apple.

"About four in the afternoon." Margo hadn't been aware she was up there for so long.

"Do you have wifi? I've got to skype my dad."

Nico laughed. "No, we don't. You can phone your father later."

They went downstairs and came toward a room that Margo could hear was filled with children before they even opened the door.

"Wendy!" cried the boys, who were sitting on the floor, when they saw her. She felt like she might throw up.

Several of the adults were sitting on couches. One of them waved Margo over to sit next to them. Over the murmur of the filled room, Margo noticed that there was one young girl sitting against Leo's legs, with black hair and green eyes, who was giving her a very nasty look. Margo thought about smiling and waving at her, but instead she just stared until the girl looked away.

"Alright, alright," said one of the adults, holding a glass of wine. "Let's get on with it!"

Margo saw Mathew in his wheelchair by the door. One of the other boys was making faces and making Mathew laugh. Nico sat on the couch and held Jimmy in her lap. James stood silently by her.

At the front of the room was an old man who sat in a chair. Some of the boys in front tugged on his pant leg. "Tell one about the natives, Uncle Daniel!" they said.

"No, no, no," Nico called from her seat. "Margo hasn't a clue even who Peter Pan is-"

"What!" cried a few of the boys.

"Oh, start from the beginning, Daniel!" said Leo.

"Yes, Uncle Daniel, start from the beginning!"

Great Uncle Daniel furrowed his eyebrows. He looked right at Margo, sitting across from him, and straightened his glasses. After a moment, he seemed satisfied. "Right, then. From the beginning."

The room hushed down.

"All children, except one, grow up," he said. "Most children do not want to, of course, and there was once a girl, called Wendy, that was like most children in that respect. Luckily, the boy called Peter Pan came and took Wendy and her brothers away to Neverland, where they could always play silly games and where they would never grow up.

"They had many adventures, but Wendy and her brothers missed their mother, and they did not want to be forgotten like Peter's mother had forgotten him, so they went home. But Peter came for them every spring to take them to Neverland for just a little while, unless he forgot. They believed in him entirely at first, but every time he forgot to come, Wendy's brothers believed in him less and less until they didn't believe that Peter Pan had ever come at all.

"But Wendy always believed, and went every time Peter remembered to come, that is until she was too grown up to go anymore. Then, however, she had a daughter who Peter took to Neverland for just a while, and when she grew up Peter took _her _daughter and so on and so forth, and thus it will go on, so long as children are gay and innocent and heartless."

Great Uncle Daniel coughed into his sleeve then said. "There you are. That's the beginning, and I threw in the ending as well, in case you were interested."

"Oh, come on, Uncle Daniel," said Nico, laughing. "Perhaps you should throw in a bit of the middle!"

The children and the adults all fussed until finally, Great Uncle Daniel agreed and began to tell another story.

Margo didn't catch it though. She zoned out, and focused on the cheese and crackers the woman in the apron brought in. _Silly,_ she thought to herself over the sound of her chewing. After was dinner, and she ate until she was so stuffed she could hardly move.

She smiled when smiled at and answered when spoken to, but as soon as the children were excused, Margo took off in search for her room. She got lost, of course, and when she finally found the white and pink little room, someone was already moping in there.

"Oh," said Margo, closing the door behind her. "Hi."

Jackie, who had been lying on her stomach on her bed, lifted herself up long enough to say, "Well if it isn't little Miss Perfect."

Margo perched an eyebrow. "Okay," she said, then walked around to go sit on her own bed. She pulled her suitcase off of the bed and laid down herself, looking up at the ceiling. She sighed, knowing she should say something. "So," she tried. "What's wrong?"

Jackie lifted herself up again. In the fading sunlight streaming through the windows, Margo saw she'd been crying. "Oh, nothing, except in six hours you've managed to steal _everything_."

Margo pressed her lips together. "What exactly did I steal?"

Jackie sobbed into her pillow. "Well everyone just loves you, don't they? Especially my dad and Nico, just 'cause you look just like your bloody dead mum,"

Margo furrowed her eyebrows. "That was a little uncalled for," she murmured.

"Not to mention, all the boys want _you _to be Wendy," Jackie went on. Shaking, she added, "and I've _always _been Wendy, _always!"_

Margo sat up. Patting at her hair, she said, "Well, I don't want to be Wendy, so, there's no problem there."

"But the boys _do _want you to be Wendy!"

"They'll get over it."

There was a shuffle of feet and a knock at the door. "Wendy, come out, Wendy!"

"Yeah, Wendy, come out and play!"

Jackie gave Margo a look. "Maybe they're here for you," Margo said.

"Margo, aren't you in there?" Called one of the boys outside. "Come out and play with us!"

Margo sighed and walked over to the door. "No thank you," she said through the wood.

The boys knocked louder now that they knew she was there. "Come _on_," they said. "_Please!_"

Margo rested her head against the door. "I don't want to play," she said.

"Why not?"

"Yeah, we're loads of fun!"

Margo heard Jackie moan behind her. "Because I'm tired," she said.

"You've been in your room all day!"

"Yeah, you can't be tired!"

Margo began to get irritated, "Listen," she said. "I don't want to play any of your silly games. I'll see you tomorrow."

Leaning against the door still, Margo slid down and sat on the floor. She thought she heard the boys murmur in disappointment and walk away. She sighed in relief.

There was knock at the door. "I don't want to play!" She all but shouted, but there was no response. After a moment, there was another knock.

Margo stood up and opened the door, ready to convince the boys that they really didn't want to hang out with her, when she saw that instead of a bunch of children, James was at the door. "Can I speak with you for a moment?" he murmured, looking over her shoulder at Jackie on her bed.

Margo came out into the hall and closed the door. She expected James to speak, but instead, he began to walk down the hall. Margo went to follow him.

"We have everything we need for Mathew here," he said in a low voice as they walked. "All the equipment he needs for his...treatment. He's not going to last much longer. We decided to make sure he doesn't miss out on a lot." They stopped in front of Mathew's room. "There's nothing much I can do for Mathew at this point." He looked sad for a moment, emotion looking strange on his face. "He's my son," he said, as if he needed to explain himself.

"I'm sorry," Margo said, confused about why she was there.

James nodded, becoming impassive again. "I've been working on another experiment. No one knows about it." He looked pointedly at Margo. "Be quiet, please." He opened the door and they went inside.

Mathew was asleep in his bed, attached to the medical contraptions. The room was dark except for the lights that blinked on the machine. There was a low beeping noise and the sound of his steady breathing.

James sat down at a stool before a small machine. There were lots of knobs and switches. There was a small screen illuminated with a swirling light. Margo saw that the machine was connected to a needle stuck in Mathew's arm. "Look," James whispered, pointing at the screen. "He's dreaming."

"Oh," mumbled Margo.

"Not only is he dreaming, you see, he's dreaming lucidly. I've created a safe drug that allows him to be awake in his dreams, so to speak." James said.

"That's cool." Margo was unsure of what else to say.

James looked up at her. "It is cool, I suppose. More importantly, it works. Children dream of Neverland, of course, but their dreams are sectioned off into a specific part of the island-"

"Wait, what?"

"While unconscious, the child is unable to reach the rest of the island. They are trapped in their dream. However, whilst dreaming lucidly, they are able to leave. They can reach Peter's Neverland. And it works. Mathew has met Peter. He's accepted him, even. Mathew is a lost boy."

"What are you talking about?"

"I made this machine," James said.

Margo furrowed her eyebrows. "And?"

"I made two."

"I have no idea what you're trying to tell me."

"I need someone to do something for me that Mathew can't."

"I'm leaving."

Margo turned around and walked out the door. James followed her out. "Please, it has to be you. It has to-"

"You're crazy!" Margo said, too loud.

James shushed her. "Think about it. It'll be an amazing experience. Hardly anyone gets to really _see _Neverland. What Mathew tells me... Think about it."

Margo went back to her room, furious. She opened three doors before she found the right one.

–

Margo looked around. It was dark. She was in a forest. The whole place took on a flickering, blueish hue, as if the entire-

She gasped, spinning around. Tall, luminous and beautiful, there stood an elfin woman. She took hold of Margo's hand, and led her through the stagnant forest. Margo had been frightened a moment before, but now she was content.

She stopped. She thought she had heard something. "Did you hear that?" She asked the elf. The elf didn't respond, however, and when Margo tried to pull away, she wouldn't let her hand go. Margo heard it again. She pulled harder, wanting to head the opposite direction, toward the noise. "Let go," she said. Her voice sounded odd, as if it were right in her own ear.

She heard it again. The noise. The voice. She became frantic. She yanked her arm away, but the elfin woman did not budge, would not let her go. "Let go!" she shouted. "Let go! Let go!"

The voice moved further away, and yet Margo could hear it more clearly. "Please!" she begged, digging into the moist earth with her feet, leaning away with all her weight. "Please, let me-"

"Margaret," said the elf. Margo looked up and saw that the elf had changed into someone new, yet gripping her hand just as tightly.

"Mother," Margo said. "Mom, please let me go, _please._"

Moira Henley looked at her daughter with more emotion that Margo had ever seen on her. She looked like she would cry. She closed her eyes and shook her head.

The voice sounded further away. Margo pulled forward and shouted out toward the wood, "Wait!" When she turned back she saw that the elf had changed again, from her mother to a version of herself, with longer hair and no bangs and green eyes instead of blue.

"Come back," she murmured, and let go of Margo's hand.

Confused, but free, Margo ran toward the voice, pushing away vines and tripping over roots. It got closer, and closer. She shouted back, hoping he'd hear.

"WENDY?" the voice said.

"PETER!" she shouted back.

–

Margo woke with a start. She looked to her right and saw that Jackie's bed was made and she was gone.

Scrambling off the bed, Margo almost fell as she made for the door. She threw it open and saw James standing there, with his fist poised to knock.

"I'll do it," she said, and closed the door.


End file.
